


A Violation of Procedure

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gang Rape, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Blame, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: Chekov makes a mistake on an away mission, and he ends up paying for it in ways he didn't expect. He should have known better; after all, he'd always prided himself on knowing procedure.
Relationships: Pavel Chekov/Original Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	A Violation of Procedure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inlovewithnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/gifts).



Chekov hadn’t been paying as much attention to his surroundings as the situation warranted, that was the problem. An away mission on an unknown planet required utmost vigilance. He’d just been so fascinated by the patterns of luminescence shifting around the seemingly solid rock of the cave wall that he’d gotten distracted. The colors had swirled hypnotically, and he’d reached out a hand to touch. 

Chekov _knew_ procedure. He knew better than to go sticking his hand into unknown substances. Before the mission on Hocuray, Commander Spock had even given the team an additional briefing on the dangers the planet might pose. But Chekov had ignored procedure. He’d touched his fingertips to the glowing rock, and that was the last thing he remembered.

Now, Chekov lay dazed on the hard floor of an entirely different cavern. His communicator and the rest of his equipment was nowhere in sight. The Hocurians, hulking figures whose craggy forms looked to be roughly hewn from stone, moved around him in the space. Glowing equipment seemed to have grown out of the walls of the cavern: several iterations of some kind of interface stamped with unfamiliar letters, and a larger, smooth surface on one wall that may have been a viewscreen. 

Chekov tried to sit up, but one of the Hocurians stomped up to him and pushed him back down. He rumbled something in a gravelly voice, but without the universal translator, Chekov had no hope of deciphering the words.

Still, Chekov could hope the Hocurians had the capability he did not at the moment. Chekov knew what he was meant to say in this situation. He had studied all the procedures for encounters with unknown lifeforms back at the academy, even if he’d never had occasion to use them. 

“I am Ensign Pavel Chekov, a Starfleet officer assigned to the USS Enterprise,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “We are part of the United Federation of Planets. We are here on a peaceful exploratory mission. We mean you no harm.”

The Hocurian made a harsh, grinding noise and turned what seemed to be its head. The other half-dozen Hocurians looked towards Chekov and made the same grinding noise. The sound made Chekov’s stomach clench.

He opened his mouth to try again, but the Hocurian clamped a hand firmly over Chekov’s mouth. He squeezed until Chekov let out a pained grunt, then released him. The Hocurians exchanged a few words, then the one who seemed to be Chekov’s assigned jailer grabbed him by the back of his uniform shirt and began to drag him across the cavern. 

“I can walk,” Chekov protested, but the Hocurian shook him until his teeth rattled, and kept dragging him. He deposited Chekov in front of the polished rectangle on the wall. 

From this angle, Pavel could see that it glowed with an image. His heart leapt as he realized the display showed the bridge of the Enterprise. His crew had already found him. They knew where he was! Captain Kirk would explain that this was all a misunderstanding, and everything would turn out all right, as even the stickiest of situations tended to do when the captain was involved.

The Hocurian closest to the screen, who, judging by the deference shown him by the others appeared to be the leader, was speaking animatedly. The faces of the officers on the bridge of the Enterprise were grim. Sulu looked pale, Uhura composed but stern, Kirk with jaw clenched tight in anger, and Mr. Spock blank-faced as ever, but with the particular tilt of his eyebrows that means he wanted to kill someone. 

The leader gestured towards Chekov, and Chekov’s minder yanked him to his feet. Chekov tried to look unconcerned. He wasn’t hurt, after all. He didn’t want to unduly worry his superior officers. The situation could still be resolved peacefully.

“A deliberate attack upon one of Starfleet’s officers is as good as a declaration of war. Surely you’re not suggesting that the Hocurians want to start hostilities against the Federation,” Kirk was saying. His voice sounded far away and tinny, as if filtered through some technology not meant for Chekov’s ears.

The leader made the grinding sound again, then said something else in a tone Chekov didn’t like. He gestured, and the other Hocurians in the room surrounded Chekov. He drew back from their reaching hands, but to no avail. Each of them took hold of one of Chekov’s limbs as they pushed him down to the floor on his belly. 

One grabbed hold of Chekov’s uniform, and Chekov saw the Hocurian’s fingers sharpen into flinty points, the better to shred his clothes. The others helped, and soon Chekov’s uniform was coming away in ragged strips.

Chekov didn’t struggle. The manual had covered the possibility of torture, and how to maintain the dignity befitting a ‘Fleet officer, but it hadn’t mentioned how difficult it would be not to shout at them to stop, not to try futilely to squirm away from their questing touches. He was meant to remain silent, or if he could not, only to recite his name, rank, and commission number. He wasn’t meant to plead with them to leave him alone, and he wouldn’t.

“Chancellor, I’m warning you--” Kirk’s voice was rising in volume.

The leader pushed a button on the wall panel. The sound cut off, but the image remained of Kirk standing up, shouting. Then the leader stepped between Chekov and the screen, blocking his view. The other Hocurians forced Chekov up onto his knees, and the leader took Pavel’s jaw in his grip and tilted his head up. He stepped forward, displaying between his legs what seemed to be a sex organ: rock-like as the rest of him, but perfectly smooth, cylindrical with a bulbous tip. 

Oh, sexual violation, Chekov thought distantly. An uncommon form of torture. In some cultures, sex, particularly in many cases, penetration, was used to establish dominance. The manual mentioned that though such violation could often cause significant psychological damage, the physical injury could be minimal, depending on the compatibility of the participants’ anatomy. That might make it easier to stage a later escape. 

The leader squeezed Chekov’s jaw. He judged from the strength of the grip that the Hocurian could easily exert enough force to break bone. Procedure did suggest that compliance with demands that did not compromise one’s mission, when threatened with injury or death, was an acceptable strategy. Submitting to this was unlikely to negatively affect the Enterprise’s mission. If the Hocurians’ goal was to humiliate Chekov, well, that was better than breaking his jaw.

The leader pushed one rough-hewn thumb against Chekov’s lips, and Chekov opened his mouth to allow it entrance. The Hocurian gave a pleased rumble, then hooked his thumb against Chekov’s cheek to drag him forward onto his--appendage? Organ? Cock. It was certainly a cock, Chekov thought as the leader pushed the rounded head past his lips. 

Chekov wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with this procedure. Though being significantly younger than all of his peers at the Academy hadn’t exactly been a boon to his love life, he’d applied himself to the study of sexual behavior as diligently as he did to more academic topics. It was a motivating force for many lifeforms, and would be important to understand in his career. By the time of his graduation, he’d explored the full variety of sexual activities available to him. So it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to suck cock, and even how to enjoy doing so. But this situation was quite different than his tipsy experiments with fellow cadets. 

As the leader pushed into his throat, Chekov’s eyes flicked to the screen, where he still saw the image of the Enterprise’s bridge, and all his fellow officers, watching. His eyes slammed shut, and he felt his cheeks heat. There was nothing to be ashamed of, he told himself as the leader began to fuck his mouth. Chekov was simply following procedure. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

Except, of course, he had done something wrong. He’d touched that rock in the cave, a clear breach of procedure. Perhaps he’d violated some sacred object, or contaminated a scientific experiment. Whatever it was, he’d clearly outraged these people and created a diplomatic disaster for Captain Kirk to deal with. Chekov had caused this. The least he could do was take the retribution the Hocurians meted out without complaint. Perhaps his compliance would appease them and make it easier for the captain to complete their original mission, which was far more important in the grand scheme of things than Chekov’s pride, or even his life. 

Silent tears drew tracks down Pavel’s cheeks as he submitted to the Hocurian leader thrusting harder into his mouth and scraping his throat. He’d brought this upon himself, and it was his duty to endure. 

The leader grasped Chekov by the hair--his curls slightly longer that ‘Fleet regulations recommended--and pulled him down until he choked and sputtered against the unyielding hardness. He shoved Chekov back to allow him a few desperate, gulping breaths, then pushed in again. On the seventh or eighth repetition, he held Chekov in place while his cock rippled and pulsed, dispensing a slimy, viscous substance that coated Chekov’s throat. Then he released Chekov and stepped away, leaving Chekov to pitch forward on his hands, gasping. 

Almost immediately, another Hocurian approached, dragged Chekov upright by the hair, and unceremoniously pushed his cock into Chekov’s mouth. Chekov let the Hocurian’s hands guide him, and pushed down his urge to struggle. He shouldn’t fight back when he was the one who’d been in the wrong.

From behind Chekov, one of the other Hocurian was grumbling loudly. He pushed Chekov’s knees further apart, scraping them against the rough stone floor, and pushed a finger against Chekov’s exposed hole. Chekov tensed, remembering the fingertips becoming sharp enough to rend fabric. But the Hocurians must have had the ability to alter their shape in more ways than one, because the digit at his entrance was smooth and blunt. It was rubbing something slick against him, a thick, slimy substance not unlike that which Chekov had just swallowed. The Hocurian pushed a finger tentatively into Chekov’s body. Chekov’s hips jerked away of their own accord before he remembered he wasn’t meant to be resisting. 

The Hocurian behind him clamped a hand around Chekov’s hip and pulled him back. Then Chekov tried to simply breathe and relax as one Hocurian thrust into his mouth and the other stretched his ass. They were going to fuck him, Chekov told himself, trying to be matter-of-fact. They were going to fuck him, and it was likely going to hurt. But Chekov wasn’t going to resist, nor protest. He was simply going to allow the Hocurians to take the recompense they saw fit for what harm Chekov had caused. 

Motion on the screen caught Chekov’s attention. Most of the crew had vacated the bridge. Commander Spock stood with a hand on the captain’s shoulder, leaning in close and speaking. Captain Kirk stared directly at the screen, his fists clenched at his sides. 

Chekov quickly looked away. He hadn’t meant to put his captain in this position. How wretched for the captain to have one of his crew cause such offense, and to feel particularly responsible as the commanding officer. He wouldn’t be trusting Chekov on another away mission for a very long time. That is, if Chekov wasn’t punished more severely for causing such an incident: demoted, reassigned, or dismissed from Starfleet entirely. Well, Chekov would just have to do his best to make up for his mistake, and not antagonize the Hocurians any further. 

The Hocurian fucking Chekov’s mouth pulled out its cock and held Chekov in place by his hair as he spurted his release across Chekov’s face, sticky and cold against his skin. Chekov managed to close his eyes in time to feel the substance splatter, then drip down into his eyelashes and over his mouth. He turned his head to the side and tried ineffectually to rub the mess off his face against his shoulder. 

Behind him, the fingers withdrew, and something larger replaced them. The unyielding, broad head of a stone-like cock stretched him unbelievably. It felt larger than anything Chekov had taken before, and certainly the Hocurian was making no effort to ensure Chekov’s comfort. The unbearable stretch continued past what Chekov thought he could endure, and then again beyond that, until he gave a pained shout and the Hocurian’s cock popped inside. Chekov bit back any further noise. He wasn’t supposed to resist, but he didn’t know if he could keep himself quiet when the cock inside him withdrew slowly, pain screaming along Chekov’s nerves as the thickest part of it passed his rim, popping out into the dry air of the cavern, then began pressing in again. 

To Chekov’s relief, another Hocurian came to take a turn with his mouth, muffling any further sounds. The one behind Chekov sped up gradually, pulling fully out each time before jabbing in again. Before long, the two had set a punishing pace, shoving Chekov back and forth between them. Tears leaked from Chekov’s eyes almost continuously now, but he hoped they wouldn’t show on the viewscreen. Before long, the Hocurian fucking Chekov’s ass groaned like an avalanche and gripped Chekov’s hips hard as he climaxed, pumping Chekov full of cool, slick release.

After that, the details blurred. More Hocurians arrived to use his ass and his mouth. Chekov thought the leader might have come to take another turn, but he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to tell the Hocurians apart. Chekov’s ass became looser, so the hurt turned dull instead of sharp when they entered him. After more of the Hocurians had come inside him, each thrust was accompanied by an obscene squelch. Chekov’s jaw ached, and his throat felt rubbed raw, such that taking each new load of come provided a bit of relief, as it was pleasantly cool against his abused throat.

Each time Chekov glanced at the viewscreen, he saw Captain Kirk staring back at him, furious, a reminder that Chekov had brought this upon himself and needed to make amends as best he could.

At last, Chekov found himself slumped on his side against the cold stone floor. His body felt heavy and sore, and he could feel come dripping from his stretched hole. No one was touching him. Chekov turned his head a bit to see the Hocurian leader talking again to Captain Kirk in low tones. Chekov curled in on himself and lay still, trying not to draw attention. He could only hope that his cooperation had made up for his original offense. If they wanted something more from him--well, he would just have to manage. 

One of the other Hocurians stepped up to Chekov and crouched. Chekov looked up to see him extend his hand, showing Chekov’s communicator. At the Hocurian’s inviting gesture, Chekov picked it up and curled his hand over it. Its universal translator function resumed immediately. 

“You’ll see. We’ve ruined it for any other species,” the leader was saying as he faced the viewscreen. “It won’t want to go back to serving you puny humans.”

“Little Starfleet slut loved taking real cock,” one of the other Hocurians beside the leader put in, with an expression that might have been a sneer. “He didn’t even struggle.”

“This has proven to us again how weak you humans are. As we suspected, unworthy of our assistance, and far from being our equals in strength and skill.” The leader turned to Chekov. “Farewell, little whore. Come see us again the next time you need a real fuck.”

The tingling sensation of a transporter engaging swept Chekov away even as he opened his mouth to protest. 

Dr. McCoy was waiting in transporter room three, and stepped up as soon as the materialization finished to wrap Chekov in a robe. Chekov’s legs nearly gave out, but McCoy threw Chekov’s arm over his shoulder to hold him up for the short walk to sickbay. “Easy, ensign. You’re safe now.”

Chekov barely saw his surroundings as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The Hocurian leader’s words rang in his head; Chekov had made them think Starfleet was weak by complying with them. He hadn’t repaired the harm he’d done after all. The ache of that knowledge hurt more than his raw throat, or his stretched ass, which dripped with every step. 

No sooner had McCoy gotten Chekov settled on a private biobed in the back corner of sickbay than the wall panel chirped with an incoming communication. 

“McCoy,” the doctor answered, already gathering his tricorder and some other supplies.

“Do you have him?” Uhura’s voice came through, absolutely steady.

“Yes, go.” 

Chekov knew he couldn’t feel a gravity change when the Enterprise accelerated, but he could have sworn he felt the engines shift with motion. They were leaving Hocuray, though they almost certainly hadn’t completed the mission they’d come for; Chekov had caused that failure, too.

McCoy adjusted some settings on the tricorder before turning it on Chekov. “They’re going to need a full briefing at some point, but for now, just tell me where it hurts.”

“I am not injured,” Chekov said quietly. It wasn’t as if they had beaten him. And he had more pressing concerns that any lingering physical pain. “Is the captain angry with me?”

“No.” McCoy frowned at him. “Why would he be?”

“Because it is my fault,” Chekov confessed. McCoy must not know what he’d done to provoke the Hocurians. “I caused a problem for the mission.”

“Hogwash.” McCoy resumed his tricorder scan. “Only folks who did anything wrong are the ones that hurt you.”

“I told you, I am not really injured,” Chekov said again.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Chekov lay still for a moment, letting McCoy continue his scanning, until at last he had to at least try to make McCoy understand. “I’m still fit for duty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, too.” McCoy’s tone hadn’t changed, but the words sent a chill down Chekov’s spine.

“Oh,” Chekov said quietly. “I will understand if the captain does not want me back at my post.”

“Ensign. Hey.” McCoy put his hand on Chekov’s shoulder, waiting until Chekov looked at him.   
“You’re going back to your post, all right? You’re not getting punished or demoted or whatever damn thing you’re thinking. You’ll need some time to recover, just like any officer injured during an away mission. I may have to let Kirk bend my recovery timelines, but I don’t mind pulling rank on you.”

“If you say so,” Chekov said, and gave McCoy his best attempt at a reassuring smile. But Chekov knew, once he wrote his report and confessed what he’d done, he’d have to be punished. The captain had seen--they’d all seen--what the Hocurians had done to him. They had to know he’d provoked it. And he wouldn’t shirk from explaining that. Accurate report writing was an integral part of post-incident procedure. And Chekov knew procedure.


End file.
